


Where the Heart Is

by shedrownedusinink (goldenperception)



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (this is gonna be a series fyi), F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:59:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenperception/pseuds/shedrownedusinink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katherine ruminates on the concept of 'home', and what it means to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> ...Is this thing on? 
> 
> It's been a long time since I've written something, and I'm really happy with this. In other news, Newsies has consumed my life, so here, have this.

Katherine had never much liked her apartment. The was nothing wrong with it, per say—it was spacious, clean, and in a good neighborhood. But despite her best efforts, she always felt a bit out of place there. It never felt like home.

Home. That was a more complicated concept for Katherine than might be expected. Home was New York City. Home was the house she grew up in, with her parents and siblings, not to mention all the staff who worked there, whom a young Katherine had grown to be fond of. Home was also the place where she had learned to stay quiet unless spoken to, to mind her manners, and to behave like a lady. Home was a place with rules—rules made for breaking.

In all honesty, Katherine wasn’t really sure she had a home, in the traditional sense. Home was supposed to mean comfort, safety, contentedness. She had had those things when she was a child, back before she knew anything about newspapers or money.

Maybe it was because it didn’t really feel like her apartment. Her father paid for it, much to her chagrin. It was a condition on letting her move out. But half the reason Katherine wanted a place of her own was so that she could escape her father, with his ever-present disapproving gaze. It was a compromise she could live with, but with which she would never be satisfied.

Furniture and decor were sparse. She hadn’t brought much from her room at her family’s house, and she only really bought the necessities. No pictures hung on the walls, no knickknacks lay on table tops. There was pinstriped wallpaper in the living area, and buttery yellow paint everywhere else. She had a large, cozy bed to sleep in, a simple sofa and side tables in the living area, and a round table by the kitchen. She did splurge on a big, beautiful wooden desk at which she could write, and an armchair to go with it. The apartment was functional, but plain.

Katherine always felt a little out of place, except when she was curled up in bed with a good book (she had a bookcase as well—a big one), but she never cared enough to bother making the place more homey. Besides, no one would see it but her.

Then a cheeky newsboy had drawn her a portrait during a vaudeville show, and Katherine Plumber’s life was turned upside down.

Comfort, safety, contentedness. Katherine felt comfort whenever she saw Jack, especially after a tough day. She felt safest sitting on the rooftop of the newsies' lodging house, Jack's arms around her waist, his face buried in the crook where her neck met her shoulder. And there was nowhere Katherine felt more content, more happy, than when she and her boys were lounging around Tibby's in the middle of the afternoon, sharing war stories from that day's paper sales, and sniping at one another from opposite ends of the restaurant.

Home didn’t have to be just one place, Katherine learned. In fact, it didn’t even have to be a place at all.

The entire city was her home. The streets were hers to explore. Half the time she passed a newsboy on the street they would recognize her, even if she didn’t recognize them. Even Spot Conlon, prince of Brooklyn, had been known to give her a polite nod as she passed.

Jack was her home, wherever he was. Some days they’d have lunch together, leaning against a building, food (most often bought on the street) held in their hands. When the selling was going well, they’d make their way to Central Park, or stop at Tibby’s. An assortment of the Manhattan newsies would join them on occasion, most commonly Crutchie, Davey, and Les.

Sometimes in the evening, Jack would climb up her fire escape and knock to let her know he was there. After the first few months of their relationship, she stopped locking her window. Jack still knocked anyway.

Those nights they talked about everything and nothing, enjoying their proximity. On nights when Jack arrived earlier than usual, they would watch the sun set in the west. It was these nights when Katherine could tell that he still pined for Santa Fe.

Home was a complicated thing for Katherine Plumber, but she supposed it was for everyone. Sometimes she wondered what home was for Jack. Was it the lodging house, or the Bowery? Was it New York? Was it Santa Fe?

But then she’d look at him, look at his expression as he looked at her. And in that moment, Katherine dared to imagine that maybe, possibly, hopefully, his home could be her.


End file.
